I love a good breakthrough

So today I was lying horizontal on the couch (my norm these days), feeling rather sorry for myself and very much in a funk. And I was procrastinating homework and wasting time on the internet and looking through a friend's Tumblr.

And one of the things she had posted was this question: "Do you like who you've become?"

And at first I kind of rolled my eyes and went to the next post, but then some little thing in my brain was like WAIT, LET'S THINK ABOUT THIS.

So I did. I sat and thought. And I realized that right now, I'm happy(ish). For the most part I am. I just don't like who/what I've become right now. But that's okay, because that's fixable.

So I decided to make a list of what I disliked most about myself — what I needed to change to like myself better. Here is the list:

1) get the eating disorders under control.

And boom. A weight literally felt like it was lifted off my shoulders. I've been walking around for the past month freaking out because while I feel happy (thanks, Prozac!), I'm not happy. But the truth is, I am happy. Just not really with myself.

(Does that make sense? In my head it does, but lord knows that my head isn't the most stable place in the world...)

But I can become happier with myself. And right now, that means getting the fucking eating disorders under control.

There's the motivation I needed. Living with eating disorders is a second-by-second battle. But I'm tired of living this way.

Fuck this, I'm ready to fight.

(Thank you all so much for the love.)


Skip this post if you don't want Debbie Downer

So it's pretty safe to assume that when I'm not blogging, things are rough.

Which they are right now.

And to be completely honest, I haven't posted because I don't want to be that whiny bitch who complains about her life when so many more people go through so much worse. (If my therapist is reading this, she is shaking her head slowly and saying, "WOMAN. YOU DO NOT GET IT.")

But it's a Friday night, and I'm feeling pretty damn crappy, and I want to talk. So...yeah.

Here's the deal. For almost two months now, I've been bingeing and purging. I'd never felt the compulsion to purge before, so when it started at the beginning of January, it completely blindsided me.

But since then it's been getting increasingly out of control. Couple that with the fact that I'm only eating one meal a day (at night), because I'm just so scared of starting to eat during the day and not being able to stop, and...yeah. My nutritionist isn't happy with me right now, to say the least.

Up until the beginning of February, I existed each day on hunger and caffeine highs. I'd perpetuate them by restricting food and chugging more coffee. Not going to lie, it was awesome. I felt great.

But all good things come to an end. Slash, all things destructive you do to your body catch up to you. The past several weeks I've had no energy, even when I drink multiple cups of coffee. I've lost my concentration, my motivation to fight the eating disorder, and the real will to do much of anything but lie around.

[I'm supremely good at throwing myself pity parties, especially when I myself am the cause of the problem.]

Last Wednesday, Feb. 16, my nutritionist sat me down and told me in no uncertain terms that I was really, really harming myself. She told me that I had two weeks to a) stop purging and b) start eating during the day, or she wanted me to go to an inpatient eating disorders facility over spring break in early March.


I left that appointment and cried. And cried. And cried. I felt (and still do feel) that I am powerless against these eating disorders. I'm so fucking sick and tired of fighting them. But I dried my tears, Skyped my parents, and filled them in on everything.

Let me just tell you: telling my parents about the purging, and seeing the worry on their faces, was awful. I'm so sorry, mom and dad.

Last Thursday, Feb. 17, I couldn't function. I was late to work, I was unfocused in class...it just wasn't good. And I realized that I couldn't do this all on my own. So I broke down and called my mom and begged her to come up and help me. That wasn't an easy call to make either. I've been on my own for three years now. But there are times in life when you just need your mommy, and I'm so grateful that my mom was wonderful enough to drop everything and come up (and so unbelievably grateful for a friend who donated the air miles for her to do so).

My mom stayed with me until this past Wednesday. I know it wasn't easy for her to be here with me, because I'm pretty much a hungry, exhausted, grumpy pill of a daughter right about now. But her presence was so calming. I needed her with me.

This past Wednesday, after my mom left, I had another appointment with my nutritionist. She weighed me (backward, so I couldn't see the number), took my blood pressure, listened to my heart, and took a urine sample. Since I was still purging and not eating during the day, she gave me the name of two eating disorder facilities that I needed to call. She said I needed IOP (intensive outpatient) at the very minimum, and she strongly encouraged me to go inpatient for 10 days over spring break.

And at that point, I lost it. I cried. And cried. And cried. I sat in her office and blubbered about being so tired of fighting, not wanting to deal with this shit anymore, not wanting to eat, not wanting to binge, not wanting to purge, just wanting all of this to GO. AWAY.

And my nutritionist looked at me, and she said, "I can't force you to get this help. But for your own sake, you need to." And then she told me to come back on Friday for another check-up.

I know this post is ridiculously long and rambling, but...forgive me. I just need to write a bit more.

I left the appointment and cried some more. (Take note: you guys should buy stock in Kleenex.) And I talked to several friends and cried and bitched and moaned and whined and finally decided to grow some balls and contact the treatment facilities. Since it was after hours, I left messages.

Yesterday (Thursday), I got a call back from one of the facilities. I did an intake screening over the phone (answering a bunch of questions about what I was doing/how I was doing it/how long I had been doing it, etc.) and the facilitator said that it sounded like I really did need IOP. She wanted me to come in today (Friday) for an appointment, but I had class.

So next Tuesday I'm going to a treatment facility to start IOP. It'll be five nights a week, from 5:30-8:30 p.m. I'm hoping like hell this will keep me from having to go inpatient over spring break.

You guys...I have to be honest. I really, with every bone in my body, do not. want. to. do. this. I don't want to have to take my dinner to a group session every night, and have to go through body imaging and therapy sessions and everything else I'm going to have to do. I don't want to be watched every time I go to the bathroom and I DON'T want anyone inspecting the contents of the toilet before I'm allowed to flush.

I'm terrified of them forcing me to start eating during the day again.

Have I mentioned that I fucking. hate. this?

Hell, please give me some perspective. I need it. One of my sister's friends was killed in a motorcycle accident two nights ago. I can't even imagine the level of pain his family is feeling. What right do I have to complain?!

Still, I'm lying horizontal on my couch, I have absolutely NO energy, I just want to go throw up my dinner (but I'm not. going. to.) and I have a splitting headache. My dear friend is inpatient in New Jersey for her own eating disorder, and I miss her like hell. I had to leave three classes yesterday and today because I literally could not sit there and concentrate.

I'm struggling right now.

I'm so tired of fighting. This has been eight years of disordered eating, and I know so many people have gone through so much worse, but I'm just about at the end of my rope here.

Pity party of one: check, please.


The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

You guys.

Today something awful happened.

It was scary and stressful like nothing I've ever experienced before.

I don't even know how to talk about it. But I'm going to try.

*deep breath*

This morning, my alarm went off bright and early (erm, 10 o'clock). I cursed the world, groped around for my contacts, and staggered into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

But then...this happened:

No coffee.

I started shaking. I freaked out. I looked all through our cabinets, all through the fridge, all through the shelves, and NOTHING. Then I got angry. WHO COULD HAVE LET THIS HAPPEN WHAT WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!

I *may* have overreacted a tad.

But you guys. It's coffee. COFFEE. MY LIFEBLOOD. I NEED IT.

All I could do was to try to find the most highly caffeinated substitute in our apartment — green tea. Which I made, and drank, but oh, you guys...it was not even close to the same.

So now I'm sitting here, partially in shock, partially asleep. No coffee in the apartment. No coffee in the apartment.

I cannot even articulate the horrors.


An open letter

...to the people on the floor directly above me:

Hi! I'm your downstairs neighbor. It's nice to meet you.

Now, I know it's a Friday night and all, and I've had my fair share of nights spent drunkenly singing Michelle Branch with my roommates, but...

...you have been singing this song, on repeat, for the PAST. FOUR. HOURS. I am SO NOT EVEN KIDDING.

Don't get me wrong, I like that song. Or at least I liked it the first 3,420 times I heard it. But if I have to hear how you're falling to pieeeeeceeesssss one more time, I won't be happy, and I will show up on your doorstep and give you this look:

That's right, you'll get the one eyebrow-raised Nanny Glare. And I'm not afraid to use it.


Edited to add: After I posted this, things got quiet upstairs. I can only assume my upstairs neighbors somehow saw my picture of The Nanny Glare. Which: RAWK. I've still got it.


I may have spit up on me but I DON'T CARE

So last semester, I took a photojournalism course. And for our final project, we had to follow something/somebody over a period of time and produce a photoessay. Now, I had just gotten a DLSR and I had no idea what the HECK I was doing with it, but I was like, "OKAY SURE! TAKING PICTURES IS EASY!"




My poor, poor naive self. Taking pictures? Notsoeasy. For serious. But I did have fun, and that's all that matters, right? Especially when you're spending $40,000+ a year on tuition? Fun? Right?

(My dad is reading this, grimacing, and muttering, "She better have learned A WHOLE LOT in that class besides fun for $40,000+ a year. [EXPLETIVE.]")

(Hi dad! I love you!)

Anyway. For my final project, I followed a local family for the last six weeks of their pregnancy, and up to (and after) the birth of their second child. I wanted to focus on the homebirth movement in my state, and they wanted a homebirth! Bingo.

So I essentially tagged along at each of their midwife appointments, went over to see them on weekends, and generally stalked them. They have a 2.5 year old daughter who is just. too. cute. to. move, so I also got some kiddo-lovin' in. It was awesome.

When it came time for Birth Day, I got a call at 7:20 in the morning from the mom, and I hightailed it out to their house. Long story short, she labored at home (and did beautifully, seriously, she's a rockstar) for 11 hours and then had to transfer to the hospital. She had spiked a fever, and it just rose too high for the midwives to feel comfortable for to deliver at home.

But, beautiful baby boy arrived safely (though he caught his mom's infection and had to stay in the hospital for a few days), and I went out a week later to photograph him again. That wrapped up my final project, and I sadly said goodbye to such a sweet family.

Well, last week I got an email from the mom, asking if I wanted to meet at the science museum today to see the kids. Um, YES PLZ SEE YOU THERE KTHXBAI. Also, BABY-LOVIN' TIME YAYYYYY.

And y'all. It was. I just spent the morning at the science museum running around with a 3-year-old and holding a 3-month-old. Y'ALL.

See that smile on my face? 100% genuine. Happiest. Nanny. EVER.

bella, hallie & jackson


Snow day!

This was taken outside my kitchen window this morning. I'm pretty sure there's a car under there...but I'm betting we won't be able to see it until spring.